


Irredeemable

by ScripStrel



Series: Michael Mell - Actual Demon [2]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Buzzfeed Unsolved References, Demons, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Light Angst, M/M, MST3K References, Post-Squip, Supernatural Elements, Unrequited Love, yeah I'm back with more of those
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 07:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17240006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScripStrel/pseuds/ScripStrel
Summary: Sometimes Jeremy forgets what it means to have a best friend from hell.Sometimes he forgets what it means to fall for the darkness.





	Irredeemable

“Dude,” Jeremy said, squinting at the television screen. “It’s nearly New Years. Are you really picking Mexican Santa Claus?”

“You bet your ass I am,” Michael said, flopping next to him on the couch, DVD remote in hand. “Just because you had a cast party last week doesn’t mean we can miss our MST Christmas tradition. Now sit back and enjoy. Lupita’s gotta get her doll.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes, but slumped into the cushions nonetheless. “We’ve seen this so many times, man. Don’t you have it memorized by now?”

“Absolutely,” Michael said. He reached across Jeremy for his paper plate of leftover Christmas cookies and stale tree-decorating popcorn. “You know that reciting the riffs with them is half the fun.”

“If you say so.”

Michael gave him a look over his glasses. Jeremy fought down a giggle. “And which of us has gone to see the live Rocky Horror Show with Christine two years in a row now?”

“It’s different when that’s the whole point of the event!” Jeremy squawked, shoving Michael away as he snickered. 

“Pretty sure it’s just a cult, but sure, man.” Michael adjusted his glasses and sat up, still grinning. 

“It is not a cult,” Jeremy insisted.

“Uh, yeah it is,” Michael said, swinging a hand around, the Mystery Science Theatre menu screen looping forgotten in the background. “I know cults, and branding you as a virgin with a big red V on your forehead the first time you show up is like, cult M.O. number one.”

“And how exactly did you become intimately familiar with the modus operandi of cult activity?” Jeremy asked, swiping the remote from his best friend. Michael gave him a sidelong glare, raising an eyebrow. Jeremy laughed. 

“Careful, Heere, or I’ll take you down with me next time I go and defy God with all of my cult buddies.” Michael’s eyes went dark as an evil grin spread across his lips. Jeremy only laughed harder. 

“Yeah, right, dude. You couldn’t hurt a fly,” Jeremy said. He finally started the movie, which opened on Santa’s workshop in the clouds, with child servants from around the world singing their weird culturally-stereotypical songs. Damn, old foreign movies made no fucking sense. 

“Could too,” Michael grumbled. He took a bite of a stale sugar cookie that was shedding red and green sprinkles. “When did you learn Latin?”

Jeremy stole a cookie and shrugged. “Everyone knows what M.O. stands for.” He nudged Michael. “Also, you talk in your sleep.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“In  _ Latin?” _

Jeremy waved towards the screen. “Are we watching the movie or not?”

Michael huffed and stuffed another cookie into his mouth, wrapping an arm around Jeremy and finally tuning in to the atrocious excuse for a movie. Jeremy relaxed into his friend’s embrace, watching him out of the corner of his eye. Amusement danced behind Michael’s glasses like candle flames. He radiated heat through his iconic red hoodie—a living furnace warming the basement and Jeremy’s winter-sensitive skin. They were tangled together on the hand-me-down couch from Michael’s parents’ college apartment, which had migrated to his basement bedroom over the years. They had cookies. They had each other. Merry late Christmas. Jeremy never would’ve thought.

Hell, he would’ve been insane to think it earlier. Sure, there was his anti-capitalist-holiday sentiment, combined with the whole  _ why the hell should I celebrate Christmas when I’m Jewish? _ thing, which kinda killed the festivity, but there was also the fact that… well… Michael.

After Junior year, Jeremy would’ve thought things would be different between them. Awkward and tense and stuff. He’d been  _ awful. _ To everyone, and to himself, but to Michael especially. He’d asked, a million times, and the discussions were always the same. 

Michael didn’t like dwelling on shit. 

(“Besides,” he’d said, “it was an ass, and it made you an ass, but it was nothing compared to some of the fuckers I’ve seen.”)

And, well… Michael  _ had _ also dropped that  _ bomb. _

But here they were, Michael muttering cheesy jokes under his breath and Jeremy biting down his giggles as he tried to pay attention to the movie and not his friend’s complete inability to hide his “Riff Face,” as he called it: a haughty smirk painting his lips and a playful gleam in his eyes and he mimicked the lowest-budget, highest-humor movie critics the other side of the millennium. Two bros, sitting in a basement, totally on top of each other because personal space be damned when you’ve known someone your whole life. Forget the bombs. Forget the betrayal and the long-held secrets. It was all in the past.

Except this new secret… 

No. Jeremy swallowed down the swell in his throat. Best not to think about it.

Pitch the devil had just made his entrance into the movie, being assigned the mission to stop Santa and ruin Christmas or whatever. This movie kept reminding Jeremy of that one time when they were kids and Michael managed to convince him to play along with Christmas enough to write a letter to Santa. Jeremy, being barely six years old, and with the dyslexic spelling patterns typical of a first grader, had instead written his letter to “Satan.” Michael teased him about that for  _ years, _ but got his mom to buy Jeremy the thing he’d asked for in his letter anyway, plus a little red plastic pitchfork leftover from Michael’s Halloween costume. For  _ authenticity.  _ (“Like how Santa eats the milk and cookies to prove he came. This way you know it was actually Satan!”) Which, well, did technically make sense.

Really, Jeremy had been an absolute idiot to not see the bomb coming over a decade later.

Jeremy’s position had shifted and his hand had found its way into Michael’s hair, winding dark curls between his fingers. His friend was practically purring, so he wasn’t about to stop, especially when his hair was so  _ soft. _ Instead, he asked, “Hey, do you have horns?”

Michael gave a confused laugh, looking at him quizzically. “What? Why do you ask?”

Jeremy nodded to the screen. “You’ve seen Pitch’s costume, right? I wanted to know how accurate it was.”

“Jeremy, your hand is on my head. If I had horns, you’d be able to feel them,” Michael said, which was fair. What wasn’t fair was that Jeremy could suddenly feel sharp, bony lumps under the mop of hair that definitely weren’t there before.

“You asshole!” Jeremy said with a snicker, grabbing one of the horns and tugging on it. “Is this actually here or are you just messing with my head?”

Michael grinned, letting his head loll with Jeremy’s yank. “Messing with  _ my _ head, actually.” 

Jeremy pulled harder. “Right, but is it actually attached or are you making me feel something that’s not actually there?”

With a snort, Michael fell into Jeremy’s lap, yanked by the top of his head. Jeremy choked out a protest, but Michael only snuggled closer, nuzzling into his chest with no regard for his glasses getting shoved sideways on his face or the way Jeremy’s stomach swooped at the now completely nonexistent personal space. Jeremy prayed that he couldn’t hear his heartbeat, which had apparently decided to betray him and go all erratic. The horns kept growing, now peeking out of Michael’s untamed mane like tiny red bamboo shoots. 

Before he could make further comment on the horns, though, something started poking Jeremy’s side. He fished around in the couch to come up with a handful of spearheaded red rope. 

“Dude.”

“What?” Michael blinked up at him, eyes wide and gleaming. A dark glassiness seeped over his irises and his toothy smile shone sharp.

“The tail too?” Jeremy tugged on it. “Now you’re just fucking around.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Jeremy pulled harder and Michael hissed. “Hey!”

“Oh, so it  _ is _ actually attached,” Jeremy hummed, his other hand playing with Michael’s horns.

“I bet you like it, you furry.” Michael’s eyes were completely dark now, but still shimmered with amusement.

Jeremy held back a laugh. “Have you  _ seen _ your own tail? No offense, dude, but I wouldn’t call this fur.” 

Michael huffed and crossed his arms. “I answered your question, didn’t I?” He was pouting like a petulant child. Jeremy resisted the urge both to roll his eyes and do something about the way his bottom lip stuck out. Maybe his mouth could— 

Nope. Not going there, remember?

“I can’t believe Mexican Santa Claus got something right,” Jeremy said with a chuckle. “You’re missing the goatee, though.”

Michael flicked his tail out of Jeremy’s grip, whacking him on the hand like some kind of medieval teacher’s ruler-slap. “Look,” he gestured with the point of his tail to the tv, where the movie was still playing, long forgotten, “Pitch has a goat tail. Mine looks more like a dragon’s, which is like, way cooler. Mexican Santa Claus still needs to up its game.”

“Right, but the  _ goatee. _ You still need—”

“ _ Jeremy,”  _ Michael growled, flipping himself over to hover above him, pushing Jeremy back to lay across the arm of the couch. He was  _ pinning him down _ and holy shit, that dark glare and those sharp teeth sent Jeremy’s thoughts straight down to hell. He was sure his face was a brighter red than Pitch’s morphsuit, and he was absolutely positive that Michael knew exactly what he was doing. “I’m a creature of darkness. I can look however I want.” He was smirking. He was smirking and there was a hellish fire burning in his eyes and in Jeremy’s chest.

And maybe in his pants, but he was trying not to think about that.

Jeremy choked. Michael’s smile seared into him. His horns grew, pointing down into Jeremy’s face. The tip of his tail traced along Jeremy’s chest, white-hot. The edges of the basement faded into shadow. “So do you like what you see?” he asked, speaking with the voice of a thousand trapped souls or whatever the fuck it was. Jeremy’s breath caught and his blood ran cold, his fear response finally kicking in to handle the fact that  _ there was a demon on top of him and holy fucking shit. _

He squeaked, shivering. 

_ It’s just Michael. It’s just Michael messing around. You’re perfectly fine. _

Michael’s glamour shifted, burning away to meld back into, well, Michael. The horns disintegrated, the tail stopped it’s teasing, and Jeremy was left with just the image of his best friend on top of him, blushing and grinning with mussed hair and teeth that were just a little too sharp and eyes that were just a little too dark. 

And holy shit, it was almost worse.

Jeremy’s instinctive fear dissolved, leaving him a flushed and flustered mess with no excuse. He whimpered.

Michael had never been a demonic voice in his head. He’d always been adamant about that. Sure, he was a little fucker who had always liked freaking Jeremy out a bit, but that wasn’t the same as like…  _ possessing  _ him. Still, he sure knew how to get under his skin. 

“Get off,” Jeremy protested, finally finding his voice past the deadly cocktail of lingering fear and scalding arousal that was pumping in his veins. 

“Why should I?”

“ _ Michael,” _ Jeremy whined, forcing himself to stay still and not push up into his friend and press into his mouth and find out just how hot things could get. “You’re killing me, here.”

Michael’s gaze softened. His smile faded. Without a word, he slid back into his place on the couch, not meeting Jeremy’s eyes. “Sorry.”

The temperature in the basement seemed to drop ten degrees. Jeremy’s head was reeling at the sudden shift. “Wait, what?” The pressure in his jeans was suddenly more confusing than desperate. 

“I—” Michael cleared his throat and shifted away. “I didn’t realize. I’m sorry.” He fixed his eyes on the half-eaten remains of their Christmas cookies, which had been abandoned on the floor. 

Jeremy shook his head. “Didn’t… realize what?”

“I, uh—” Michael coughed. 

“Dude.”

He shifted. 

“Michael.” Jeremy grabbed his arm, and Michael yanked it away. He coughed again. “Dude, please tell me. What did I do?”

“No, no.” Michael took off his glasses and ran a hand over his face. “You didn’t do anything. I did.”

Jeremy scooted closer to him, trying in vain to get a decent look at his face. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

Michael glanced at him, before fixing his gaze on the tv. Santa was just showing a little boy that his parents loved him or something. The movie wasn’t important anymore. “You humans are really easy to read, you know.”

“I—What?” Jeremy blinked. It wasn’t often that Michael acknowledged the fact that he wasn’t human. Well, more accurately, that he wasn’t human and Jeremy was. 

“I probably shouldn’t bring it up. I was going to let you figure it out and like, get over it yourself, but I, um… I got carried away?” Michael rubbed the back of his neck, resolutely staring at anything but Jeremy.

“What are you—?”

“You like me,” Michael said. Jeremy’s heart rocketed into his throat and then dropped into his stomach like a pound of bricks.  _ No no no no no.  _ No. He couldn’t have just  _ known. _

Jeremy gave a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, man. We’re best friends.” When in doubt, use the same denial tactics you’ve been using on yourself since you first realized your feelings went a little beyond platonic. That always works. It worked well enough on you, right?

He was so screwed.

Michael finally looked at him. It was a sad kind of look. The kind of look that said “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Michael said.

“What? No, Michael—” 

“Love is an interesting thing.” Michael chewed on his lip, staring somewhere over Jeremy’s shoulder. “It smells funny, I guess is the right way to put it. It’s sweet and toxic and just— It’s like catnip, I guess. And you guys, you practically  _ bleed  _ it. Asking me not to notice is like asking a shark not to follow the smell of blood in the water.”

Well how was Jeremy supposed to respond to  _ that? _ “Michael, I—”

“And it’s not your fault that I can’t control it.” Michael blinked hard. Tears started streaming from his eyes, which were black and glassy again, only it wasn’t terrifying or hot this time. It was so damn pathetic.  

“Michael!” Jeremy said, grabbing his friend’s face and forcing him to meet his gaze. “What do you mean it’s not my fault? I’m the one with a crush on my best friend. You don’t have to feel bad for, for what? Not feeling the same?” Jeremy’s eyes stung. Michael’s cheeks were so warm under his hands and he looked back at him with that stare that was so  _ empty. _ “I’m the idiot human who can’t hide his dumbass crush. I’m the one who should be apologizing.” 

“I’m the one who’s gonna break your heart!” Michael cried, pulling backwards. “I, I can’t— I just— I’m sorry.” He covered his mouth with his hand as his face screwed together.

Jeremy’s chest felt empty. His skin buzzed. He’d just been found out, and  _ Michael _ was the one freaking out and blaming himself. He wasn’t being thrown out of the basement. He wasn’t being called a freak or a clingy loser or anything, but Michael also wasn’t laughing it off and saying Jeremy was too good for him, so why bother? For all of the million ways Jeremy had thought this might go, this was a complete slap in the face.

He didn’t even really know what was wrong. How could Michael break his heart now? Jeremy had already been completely certain that it didn’t matter and that Michael didn’t like him back and never would. He’d never brought it up because he knew he could get over it eventually. He’d hate it, forever thinking about what might’ve been and the one that got away—a little like how the animalistic part of his brain was still stuck on how Michael had looked hovering over him despite all rationale saying that was  _ so  _ not important right now—but he could get over it.  

His heart was already shielded. How could it be broken now?

Michael was shaking with suppressed sobs. Jeremy’s heart clenched. “I never said you needed to love me back, man,” he muttered.

Somehow, Michael started crying harder. 

“Michael! Seriously, you’re scaring me. I don’t care that you don’t feel the same way.”

“But I do!” Michael wailed. He turned to him, face streaked and glasses misted with boiling tears. He shook his head and pulled still further away from Jeremy, now perched on the arm of the couch. “I really like you, Jeremy. I  _ do, _ but I  _ can’t _ love you. Don’t you get it?”

“No, I don’t!” Jeremy’s voice cracked and he didn’t care. He  _ didn’t _ get it. Why didn’t Michael understand that it didn’t fucking  _ matter? _ “Who cares, anyway? I can deal with my own shit, so don’t you go feeling bad for me!”

Michael hiccuped. “Jer, I can’t love  _ anyone,” _ he said softly. 

Jeremy stopped at that. “You… What?”

Michael sniffed and rubbed his nose on the back of his hand. “Love is like a strict divine-only thing. And I’m pretty much the opposite of divine, so.” He shrugged.

Jeremy shook his head. “I’m not divine either.”

“No, like.” Michael swallowed. “There’s heaven and there’s hell and then earth is in the middle. Humans are shit, but you’re not irredeemable, you know?”

Irredeemable? Did Michael seriously—? He was Jeremy’s best friend for a reason. Jeremy  _ loved _ him for a reason, damnit. He was sweet and funny and endlessly supportive. His voice was like bubbles and his smile was like sunshine. His hugs felt like bundling up in a fur coat in the middle of a snowstorm: comfortable and protected. He made shitty jokes that he couldn’t even finish because he was too busy laughing, which always made Jeremy laugh with him. Michael was the one who could bring slushies to save Jeremy from himself and blessed vintage soda to save him from the voices in his head. Michael was the one who was always there, no matter how awful Jeremy was to him. He was his guardian angel from hell, right?  

Right.

“You’re still here,” Jeremy said, picking at a loose string in the couch. “Couldn’t you be haunting some bridge somewhere if you wanted? Especially since there's no secret to keep anymore?”

Michael sniffed again. “I guess. Why?”

“Why me?” Jeremy looked up, finally meeting Michael’s eyes. He could probably drown in the film over his gaze, despite it being super unnerving, but it really wasn’t the time. “If you’re so irredeemable, why are you still here with me? Wouldn’t it be easier to go scare tourists and punch the Buzzfeed Unsolved guys in the face when they ask you to?”

Michael giggled. Progress. “First of all, the reason none of the stuff they look for ever does anything is that Shane is actually a super powerful demon and we don’t fuck with him, even if he’s asking for it.”

“Wait,  _ what?”  _

“Second, I can still  _ like _ things and feel lust and stuff.” Michael coughed again and mumbled, “I never said I didn’t  _ want _ to love you.”

A wave of warmth washed over Jeremy, leaving him breathless. “Oh,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Michael breathed. “I’m just scared I won’t do it right.”

Jeremy wasn’t sure when Michael had fallen back onto the couch cushion. He wasn’t sure when they’d gotten this close again. He wasn’t sure which one of them closed the distance first.

He was sure that this was much more heaven than hell. 

Michael tasted like hot coals. Like something smoky and dangerous. His slightly chapped lips scalded Jeremy’s tongue as he licked in, and the inside of his mouth was hot as the lava now thrumming through his veins. Burning embers traced along Jeremy’s skin with Michael’s fingers, coming to rest along his jaw and pulling him closer. Michael’s glasses pressed into their faces and Jeremy’s brain was baking in his skull as his blood boiled. 

You can only stand in the fire for so long, though. 

They pulled apart, both panting. 

“I love you,” Jeremy said, because as much as he’d been sure he could get rid of his crush on his own, the fire burning in his chest was all-consuming, and his heart was going up in smoke and fogging up his brain. 

“I know,” Michael said with a smirk, tears finally dry, steamed away in the kiss.

Wordlessly, they folded into each other, chasing after the intoxicating heat. Michael rewinded the movie, because a movie tradition meant they had to actually  _ watch _ the whole movie. Jeremy melted into the couch, his best friend snuggled into his arms. He twirled his fingers through Michael’s hair and toyed with his horns, which had jokingly returned with Michael’s good mood. 

Irredeemable his ass. Jeremy would  _ personally  _ redeem him if he had to. That’s what the New Year was for, right? And in the meantime, the hearth in his chest could hold enough love for the both of them. 

That is, until Michael’s tail came back and poked him in the side and Michael was on top of him again. 

Looks like they’d need to rewind the movie more than once.

**Author's Note:**

> I missed my window for a holiday fic, but I still wanted to do a Satan vs Santa thing with Demon!Michael, so here's this. I didn't mean to make it all deep, but that's just how the writing process works sometimes. Oops.  
> The Mexican Santa Claus movie is a real thing (the title is just Santa Claus, but I think it was a Mexican film studio). I only know about it through MST3K, but it's totally possible there's some kind of history or significance of it that I might be missing. Double oops. 
> 
> I adore feedback, so please feel free to let me know what you thought!


End file.
